Franklin: "Chapter LII. A Night with Stuart's Raiders.," by Alexander K. McClure, 1905
Summary: McClure reflects on the naive optimism about the certainty of easy victory held by both sides before the Civil War began, discusses the transition to an appreciation of the costs and hardships of war, and recalls Jeb Stuart's occupation of Chambersburg and his own very narrow escape from being arrested by a band of Confederate cavalry officers.
I THINK it entirely safe to say that had the Northern and Southern men known the qualities of each other as well before the war as they did when the war closed, there would have been no fratricidal conflict.
Both sides confidently counted on an easy victory if it came to a clash of arms, and the strangest of all the errors of that time was the generally accepted idea, both North and South, that the other side would not accept the sacrifices and desolation of war.
That such erroneous ideas should be entertained seems unaccountable when we consider the history of both sections from the heroic sacrifices of the Revolution to the achievements of the War of 1812 and the triumphs of the Mexican War, in which the Northern and Southern soldiers were side by side in every battle, and both exhibited the highest qualities of heroism.
They were of the same blood, had grown up under the same free institutions, stood shoulder to shoulder in every trial that came to the country, and that both sections should have so gravely underrated each other after the records that both had written seems now utterly incomprehensible, but it was none the less the truth. After the surrender of Sumter, in a Republican legislative caucus held in the hall of the house at Harrisburg with closed doors, I was hissed by many of my fellow Republican legislators because I said that if civil war came it would be one of the most desperate and bloody struggles of history.
Speeches were made in that caucus by members of the Legislature declaring that the Southern people had degenerated into bombastic insolence and that if they attempted war the women of the North could sweep them from the Potomac with their brooms.
In like manner Howell Cobb, who had been Speaker of Congress, and a man of unusual culture and ripe experience in intercourse with the people of the whole country, declared in a public speech in the South that if the North resisted secession the Southern planters would be enabled to call the roll of their slaves on Bunker Hill.
Each section believed that the other would in the end decline the arbitrament of the sword, as the agitators North and South constantly declared that such must be the end of the controversy. How sadly both sides were mistaken was proved by the hundreds of thousands who fell in the most desperate battles of the world's history, and, however the generalship of the Northern and Southern armies has been criticised, there has never yet appeared a line in either imputing the want of sublime heroism to the other.
We were entirely unprepared for the war, and in that regard the people of both sections were alike. The South was fortunate in having Secretary of War Floyd, who transferred to the Southern arsenals a vast amount of arms and munitions of war to be captured as the States seceded, but beyond that neither side had any preparation for war.
There was little or no military training from the lakes of the North to the Southern gulf, and the Mexican War was remembered only as an insignificant military episode that did not require so much as a regiment from each of the States then in the Union, while Pennsylvania furnished during our Civil War in organized and equipped regiments, including emergency men called out for temporary service when the State was invaded, 387,284 men. Had we been involved in a foreign war it would have been accepted by the people generally with little disturbance, but a war with our own people made the bravest men shudder, for all knew that the most desperate and bloody of all wars are those arising from internecine strife.
The sacrifice of life in battle, such as occurred many times in the later years of the war, would have chilled the hearts of the people to despair in the early days of the struggle.
I remember meeting General Burnside at Washington late in the fall of 1861, when the whole country was impatient at McClellan's delay in marching upon Manassas and Richmond. I shared the feeling that was universal in the North, believing that McClellan had an army quite capable of defeating the Confederates at Manassas and capturing Richmond, which all then believed would end the war, and I expressed impatience to Burnside at the hesitation of McClellan to advance. He was a frank, manly soldier, and when he informed me that he could march upon Manassas and defeat the enemy and capture Richmond, but that it would cost the sacrifice of not less than 10,000 men to accomplish it, I was silenced.
The sacrifice of such a number of men seemed so utterly appalling that it could not be entertained, and yet more than ten times 10,000 men fell in the struggles between the Rapidan and Richmond before the Confederate Capital was captured.
There are many yet living who recall how the North was convulsed from center to circumference when the announcement was made that a single Union soldier had been killed at Alexandria. Colonel Ellsworth had rushed with his command to the cupola of a hotel in Alexandria to haul down the stars and bars and hoist the Stars and Stripes, and was shot dead by the proprietor of the house, who in turn was riddled with bullets by Ellsworth's enraged soldiers. His body was brought to Washington and lay in state in the White House.
For the first time the country realized what war meant, and the sacrifice of the life of one man, well known to the country, had brought sorrow mingled with measured despair to every household.
I recall also when two officers under Patterson, when he first advanced from the Cumberland Valley to the Potomac, in the spring of 1861, were captured on a scouting expedition. It was discussed with bated breath throughout the North. Naturally the inquiry was what would be their fate.
The South was very generally regarded by the North as inflamed to fiendish fury, and the same feeling was cherished by the South as to the North. There was no recognition of belligerent rights and therefore no assurance that prisoners would be treated according to the rules of civilized warfare.
In my own community of Chambersburg, one of the most intelligent and law-abiding of any section of the State, it was with the utmost difficulty that Colonel Thomas B. Kennedy and myself saved a captured Confederate squad, after Antietam, from violent assault on the street. They were unarmed, and we had to hurry them to prison for safety.
We complained violently of what was called the appalling brutality of the Southern people, but they were after all our own people and quite like ourselves. They had the war in their own country and around their own homes, while we rarely felt the presence of an enemy.
The most interesting and instructive lesson that I had on the subject of the necessity of the Northern and Southern people understanding each other, came from a night that I spent with the Confederates in my own home in October, 1862. The battle of Antietam had been fought about a month before, and McClellan's line extended from Hagerstown to the southern side of the Potomac. As Lee's army had retreated to Virginia, and as McClellan's larger army was on the border, there was a general feeling of security among the border people, succeeding the apprehensions which had convulsed them for some weeks while Lee was on his Maryland campaign.
I was engaged at the time in preparing the State for a draft, and occasionally returned to my home in Chambersburg to give an evening or a day to my family and business duties. There was no special strain on us at Harrisburg, and I went home to enjoy a day or two of rest.
When I stepped out of the car on to the platform of Chambersburg, the telegraph operator beckoned me to come into his private office, and he exhibited several despatches he had received from Mercersburg, stating that a Confederate force of 2,000 or 3,000 had entered Mercersburg and was moving toward Chambersburg.
I naturally assumed that it was a raid across the upper Potomac for the purpose of capturing horses, supplies, etc., and at first felt little apprehension that any small force of the enemy would place itself directly in the rear and within easy reach of a large portion of McClellan's army by entering Chambersburg. I took the precaution, however, to advise the commanding officer at Hagerstown of this movement of the enemy, and suggested that he send several regiments of troops to Chambersburg as a measure of precaution. They could have been brought from Hagerstown to Chambersburg in an hour, but the Union general commanding at Hagerstown treated the proposition with utter contempt, and in a rather insolent manner advised me not to bother him with any such absurd suggestions. I remained with the telegraph operator, and an hour later he received despatches giving the startling information that the Southern cavalry were on the turnpike at St. Thomas, eight miles northwest of Chambersburg, and moving in our direction. I repeated the information to the Union commander at Hagerstown, only to receive another notice not to bother about any such ridiculous idea as the possibility of the Southern force coming into Chambersburg.
The Southern command was moving very slowly and with extreme caution, but steadily toward Chambersburg. I went home, took a hasty dinner, and then went to my law office to await events. There was no military force of any kind in the town, but I still hoped that the small body of the enemy would not attempt to get so far from its base and so nearly in touch with McClellan's overwhelming force as to venture into our town. It seemed much more reasonable that they would retrace their steps and recross the upper Potomac with their horses and other plunder.
Telegraph communication was cut off when they reached the turnpike, and we had two hours of painful suspense. A cold drizzling rain had been falling during the entire day, and while sitting by a comfortable fire in the office just about dark four or five soldiers dressed in rather dilapidated gray, with a dirty white rag tied to a stick, entered the office.
When they reached the town. they inquired for the military commander, but were informed that there were no military in the town, and they then asked where they could go to confer about occupying the town, and they were sent to my office. Judge Kimmell and Colonel Kennedy came in about the same time and joined me in receiving our first visit from the Confederates. The spokesman of the party said that they were sent with a flag of truce to ascertain whether they could enter the town without conflict, and they were informed that as there was no military force in the town there was nothing to hinder them from marching in.
I asked them what assurance could be given to our people as to the treatment they would receive from the Confederate soldiers. The answer was that they had no authority to give assurances on the subject, but that satisfactory assurances would doubtless be given by the commander of the force. I asked who the commander was and where he could be found, and the answer was that the information could not be given. I then inquired whether they would take us to the commander and assure our safe return, to which they promptly answered that they would.
Kennedy, Kimmell and myself obtained horses and rode out along the pike for nearly a mile and were finally brought up before what could be barely distinguished as a crowd of men. It was so dark that no one could be distinguished from another.
General Wade Hampton rode to the front and greeted us and was informed that we were citizens of Chambersburg who had come out to confer with him as to what assurances should be given to the people when his troops entered the town. He very promptly and cordially assured us that the citizens could all go to their homes with absolute confidence, that they would not be disturbed; that no property would be taken except such as was absolutely necessary for the command; that they wanted horses and supplies, and that they could be had without disturbing the people. I had just been commissioned as assistant adjutant general of the United States a few days before, and it occurred to me that I should make some inquiry as to what might be the fate of the Union officers. I said to General Hampton that there were probably some Union officers in the town, on recruiting or other duty, and asked what would be done with them. He answered that they would be paroled unless there were special reasons for not doing so, but he strictly enjoined us not to give information to any of them so that they might escape. He then directed us to turn about and lead the command to Chambersburg, which we did.
General "Jeb" Stuart, altogether the most accomplished cavalry leader of the Confederacy, was in command, with part of the brigades of Generals Wade Hampton and Fitz Hugh Lee, but Lee was not along in person.
A considerable portion of the command entered the town and swarmed through the square in the center that was lighted with gas, while squads scattered off in every direction in the immediate neighborhood to obtain horses. While walking across the square that was then filled with the raiders I was suddenly slapped on the back, and when I turned around I recognized Hugh Logan, who had lived in the South Mountain before the war, , but who joined the Southern army immediately after the war began, and he was then a captain, and of course the guide in the movement, as he was thoroughly familiar with all the roads and especially the mountain passes through which Stuart had to make his escape.
Logan had been a client of mine, and I had successfully defended him in a kidnapping case. He was one of the rugged mountaineers in whom you will often find the most devoted personal friendship. He at once informed me that I had no business there; that a list of some twenty of the prominent men of Franklin County had been made out to be captured and taken to the Libbey Prison, in Richmond, to be held as hostages for a number of citizen prisoners who had been captured by General Pope in his bombastic meandering during his brief and disastrous campaign in Virginia. He informed me that they had seven of them, among whom was Perry A. Rice, who died in Libbey Prison; that my name was on the list, and that it would be a great disappointment if I were not taken with them. I told him that I was an officer, and repeated what Hampton had said about paroling officers. His answer was in these words: "Hampton's a gentleman, and if you could get to him he would parole you, but 'Jeb' wants you d-d badly." I reminded him that I was under obligations not to notify any officer to leave the town that night, and that if I escaped and they discovered that I was an officer they might do great injury to my property. He advised me to go out to my home, some distance from the center of the town, and if taken to come along quietly, with the assurance that he would put me out of the line the next night, and I doubt not that he would have done it, even if it imperilled [sic] his own life.
I walked out to my home, and found that the ten horses on the farm had been captured an hour before. I supposed that as the horses had been taken I would be likely to escape further visitation, as the command could not long remain in Chambersburg with five or ten times the number of Union troops in Hagerstown and only an hour distant by rail.
I reached home about eleven o'clock. The house stood a hundred feet or more back from the road, and I closed the windows so that no light was visible outside, and sat down on the porch.
Some time about midnight I heard the clattering of hoofs and the jingling of swords on the turnpike out beyond me, and in a little while a hundred or more of Fitz Hugh Lee's cavalry halted in front of the house, as they were then just at the edge of the town and within touch of their lines. On one side of the road was a field with corn in shock, and they hurriedly threw an ample supply of corn to their horses, while another portion commenced tearing the paling off the fence to start a fire. I saw that I was up against them, and at once walked down to the gate and said that if they wanted to make a good fire there was plenty of wood a few feet around the corner, and that right behind it was a short way to water for the horses.
They received the information very kindly and at once desisted from tearing up the paling, and soon had an ample supply of wood ready for a fire. They crowded around it with great impatience, as they had been riding all day in a cold rain without overcoat or blanket, and were stripped of everything that would retard rapidity of motion. They were all wet and chilled and the fire was very welcome.
One of them who seemed to be in command asked me if I lived there and whether I had any coffee in the house. I told him that it was my home and I had coffee, but I had no way to make it, as my servants were colored and had escaped. He said that they were not hunting negroes, and that if I could find my servants and get them coffee he would assure absolute protection to all of them and to everything in the house. He had no idea where he was, nor to whom he was talking, and least of all did he suppose that he was addressing one whom he was ordered to take as a prisoner to Richmond. I told him that I could find my servants, and the little lot of officers, embracing probably half a dozen, were invited to come into the house and have their coffee, which they very gladly accepted.
There was a bright fire burning in the library and the New York and Philadelphia papers were on the table with my name on them, and the officers seized upon them at once to see what was told about the war. They were not a minute in the room until they discovered that they had asked for hospitality and were about to receive it from one whom they were ordered to arrest as a prisoner and take to Richmond. They had no opportunity for conference, as we were scattered around in a single well-lighted room, but they intuitively took in the situation and acted in perfect accord.
They had to assume that they did not know or suspect who I was, for if it became known in the South that they had supped at my house and failed to capture me they would have been liable to severe penalty, and in like manner they intuitively understood that no name of any of them should be spoken, so that I could give no information as to who had been my guests and failed to arrest me.
They were all men of more than ordinary intelligence, one of whom had been a delegate to the Democratic National convention of 1860, and they were very courteous and genial in manner. I had a bountiful supper prepared for them as speedily as possible, which they enjoyed heartily, and we sat an hour at the table discussing the various questions relating to the war with a degree of seriousness and earnestness that was most impressive to all.
They, of course, knew who I was, knew something of my relations with the State government, and spoke with the utmost candor mingled with the highest measure of courtesy on the various questions relating to the war. I shall never forget the earnestness, the eloquence and pathos of one of the officers who reminded me that their command was then armed with the best cavalry weapons captured from our forces, that the second year of the war was drawing to a close and we had not yet fought a successful battle with the Confederate army of Virginia. He inquired how we could hope to prosecute a war that in nearly two years had won no victories, and that even under the most favorable conditions the North could never conquer the Southern people.
There was no trace of bombast or arrogance in the expressions of the Southern officer. He felt that he was speaking in courtesy and candor to one who understood the situation North and South as well as he did. I answered him that he had overlooked the most vital consideration, one that would compel the North to continue the conflict even if the Confederacy was finally to be established. I reminded him that we were 20,000,000 to their 8,000,000, and that since war had begun there was no hope for the unity of the North unless it asserted its military mastery over the South.
To be defeated by inferior numbers would simply demoralize and disintegrate the North, and instead of having a Northern republic it would break into a series of petty principalities and practically anarchy. I told him that, assuming that the Confederacy was not to be overthrown, its existence could be recognized only when the North had vindicated its power to defeat the military forces of the South when separation, if inevitable, might come with some semblance of honor to both. He bowed his head in sadness and said that it was the only forceful reasoning he had yet heard for the continuance of this cruel war. He spoke of the emancipation measure, and asked whether I favored it. He insensibly shuddered when I told him that I did, and that I might complain of it, but that he could not, as the South had absolved itself from all relations with the general government that gave it the power to maintain slavery.
Wine and liquors were offered in abundance, but they indulged very sparingly, and when the bugle sounded for boots and saddles just at the break of day, they shook hands with me most cordially, thanked me for the hospitality they had received, and very earnestly expressed a hope that we might meet some time under sunnier skies.
It was not until ten years afterward that I learned who these officers were. One was Thomas W. Whitehead, of Lynchburg, Va., who saw me in the hall of the House of Representatives at Washington, of which he was then a member, and asked Mr. Clymer to introduce him to me. I then learned the whole story; that Lieutenant Colonel James W. Watts commanded the detachment, and that Captain Tebbs and himself, with Lieutenant Kelso and two others, whose names he did not recall, were the officers who were my guests on that occasion.
It was never discovered in the South that they had been in my house, and as they were all unknown to me the names were never given to the North. I thus had a most interesting and impressive night with the Confederates, whose sense of chivalry made them refuse to obey the order to arrest me because they had entered my home in quest of hospitality.
Bibliographic Information: Source copy consulted: Alexander K. McClure, Old Time Notes of Pennsylvania, 1905, pages 575-587.
